


Stranger Than Fiction

by CirrusGrey



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Discussion of Boundaries, M/M, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), ace subtype: enjoys erotica but doesn't like sex with other people, current rating is for a frank conversation about boundaries and swears, this might warrant a mature rating please let me know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27761146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CirrusGrey/pseuds/CirrusGrey
Summary: They'd been in Scotland for two days now, and together for four. They'd kissed, held hands, shared a bed, and had all the dramatic confessions and baring-of-hearts that both had been dreaming of for the past year or more. The day had dawned bright and sunny, and Martin was right: it was a good time to get into the nuances.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 77
Kudos: 240





	Stranger Than Fiction

"So," Martin said, clicking off the kettle as it boiled and pouring the steaming water into the mugs waiting on the counter. "There's an awkward conversation I'd like to have at some point. Are you up for it now or should we wait till after breakfast?"

Jon paused in the act of setting their plates out onto the table. "Awkward how?" he asked cautiously.

"Boundaries and preferences and all that embarrassing stuff."

Jon laughed, relaxing, and moved to fetch the eggs off the stovetop. "I think I can handle discussing boundaries with my boyfriend over breakfast."

"Cool." Martin grinned at him, and Jon smiled back.

They'd been in Scotland for two days now, and together for four. They'd kissed, held hands, shared a bed, and had all the dramatic confessions and baring-of-hearts that both had been dreaming of for the past year or more. The day had dawned bright and sunny, and Martin was right: it was a good time to get into the nuances.

"You know I'm ace, right?" Jon began, as they sat down to eat.

"Yeah, you brought in a flag for pride month that first year, sent me links to a couple articles when I asked about it."

"Good," Jon nodded. "I couldn't remember if that was you or Tim."

"I'm pretty sure Tim already knew? Anyway," Martin speared a bit of egg with his fork, "how comfortable are you with, like, discussing stuff like this? I know some people are... sex repulsed, I think the term is?"

Jon smiled around the rim of his mug as he took a sip of tea. "It is, but I am not. Or at least, not to that extent. I don't particularly wish to _participate_ in any sexual acts, but the abstract concept doesn't bother me."

"Good to know." Martin smiled back. "That's a first boundary, then."

"Quite."

"You seem pretty happy with making out, though," Martin said, nonchalant, and Jon choked on a bite of eggs as he tried to hold back a laugh.

"If we're framing things so bluntly, yes," he managed. "I'm 'pretty happy' with anything that doesn't directly involve genitals. Mine or yours."

Martin maintained a straight face at that, but a blush crept up his cheeks. "Me too. Though, for the record, I'd be perfectly happy to 'involve genitals' at some point if you get curious about it."

"Noted," Jon said, feeling his own face heat. "Any boundaries on your end I should know about?"

"None that'll come up if we're not having sex," Martin replied, blush fading as they drifted closer to hypotheticals. "If you do something that bothers me, I'll tell you. Otherwise, assume it's okay."

"Same on my end," Jon agreed.

"Right." Martin nodded, taking a sip of tea. "Next question's a little more explicit."

"Oh?" Jon raised an eyebrow.

"Mhm." The blush was back, though Martin was clearly trying to fight past his embarrassment. "Um. I'm, well. Hmm..."

Jon chuckled. "Martin, whatever you're stumbling over, I can't imagine it'll scandalize me too horribly."

"Right." Martin nodded, once. "Okay, so... god, the only way I can think to say this is 'I get horny a lot'." He covered his face with his hands, blushing red as a tomato.

"Very descriptive," Jon laughed. "You, uh... you have a high libido?"

 _"Thank you!"_ Martin exclaimed, dropping his hands. "That's so much better."

"I don't mind you telling me you get horny, Martin." Jon reached across the table to pat him on the shoulder. "Though you are _very_ cute when you blush."

"Shut up," Martin muttered, shrugging his hand off and blushing harder. "It just- you use words like _'genitals,'_ it sets a scientific tone. 'Horny' is very..."

"Not scientific."

"Yeah."

Jon shrugged. "I think we can survive a bit of multi-tonality. What was the question?"

Martin huffed out a breath, taking a moment to cover his face with his hands. When he lowered them, he seemed to have succeeded in overcoming his embarrassment. "The question is, does it make you uncomfortable if I fantasize about you when I get off? Since you don't actually _do_ that sort of thing."

It was Jon's turn to blush, choking on a sip of tea. "Uh- oh, um-" He coughed, trying to clear his airways, and Martin leaned across the table far enough to pat him on the back a few times. "Thanks. Um, no," Jon said. "I don't mind. I mean, it's your head, you can do what you want in there."

"Even if it's... I mean..."

"Yes, Martin," Jon said, "you can fantasize about having sex with me. Honestly, it's kind of flattering."

"Oh!" Martin looked surprised. "Really?"

"Sure," Jon said. "I'm glad I can be, uh... _that_ for you. Even if I don't want to _do_ that with you."

"But, I mean..." Martin hesitated. "It's- it's me, fantasizing about something you'd _never_ want. Something that- that you would never consent to, it's _completely_ unrealistic."

"That's what fantasies are for." The corner of Jon's mouth lifted in a smile. "So long as you don't expect me to actually do any of that stuff - and I know you won't - it's fine by me."

Martin smiled back, relaxing. "Okay, good. Um- thank you."

"You don't need to thank me, Martin."

"Eh, I'm going to anyway."

Jon laughed. "Very well, then. And continuing in the same vein: I also have a- well, I wouldn't call it very high, but I have an _average_ libido, and will also, ah... _get off_ on occasion."

Martin snorted.

"What?"

"Sorry, it's just-" he giggled. "The way you said 'get off.' It sounded so disdainful, like you're far too posh to use such crass, _common_ terminology."

Jon pursed his lips. "I will admit, I don't have much experience in the use of slang terms."

"Oh my god, that's not even slang- never mind." Martin shook his head. "You get off sometimes, what were you going to follow that up with?"

"Does it bother you?" Jon asked. "That I'll do that, and not be thinking of you."

"Nah," Martin said. "I mean, I'm not always thinking of you, either. Does that bother _you?"_

"No," Jon said. "It would if you were thinking about someone you know, someone- someone _realistic._ But like I said, your head is your business."

"Usually it's just blank." Martin shrugged. "Sometimes I'm too brain dead to fantasize."

"You've just summed up my entire experience with asexuality!" Jon said brightly. "Aroused, but with nothing to direct it at. Though, actually," he added. "More often than not I'll turn to erotica."

"Really?" Martin said, sounding surprised. "I wouldn't have thought that'd do anything for you."

"It's the concept of it, you know?" Jon waved a hand vaguely in the air. "The- the general _atmosphere_ of sex without the physical reality of it. It helps put me in the right mindframe. And having all the actual _actions_ be between two strangers keeps it at a distance, so I'm completely disconnected from the thought of actually being involved."

"I guess I could see that," Martin said, nodding. "I used to read a lot of erotica, before- well, before I met you." He delivered the last words with a grin. "Haven't needed it so much since then."

"What, that early?" Jon asked, raising an eyebrow.

Martin shrugged. "I mean, yeah, sort of? I know we didn't really get on, but you were still hot. It wasn't right away, but you were definitely in my head by the time Prentiss happened."

"Huh." Jon turned back to his neglected breakfast, swiping a piece of toast across the plate to gather the spilled egg yolk. "I'm not sure if I'll ever understand the concept of physical interest without emotional investment."

"It can be a bugger sometimes," Martin nodded. "Particularly if it's your boss."

"I'd imagine so," Jon chuckled.

"Anyway," Martin waved a hand in the air, dismissing the topic. "Boundaries. I'm assuming you'd rather have a door between us when one of us gets off? I don't particularly mind if you're in the room with me but I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Jon tilted his head to the side, thinking. "For now, let's assume that's the case. I'm... honestly not sure if I would be uncomfortable being in the same room as you while you do that? But that can be something we figure out later. I _would_ appreciate privacy on my end, I don't think I'd be able to get into the right headspace with company."

"Fine by me," Martin said. "And locations? I can stick to the bathroom or something if me doing that in our bed is weird."

"Bedroom is fine. That would be my location of choice, anyway." He paused, then, and sent Martin a wry grin. "You know, this has gotten rather easier to talk about as we go on."

"It really has, hasn't it?" Martin tapped his fingers along the rim of the teacup. "Pity it took so long, because I can't think of anything else to ask at the moment."

"Hm, me neither," Jon said. "We seem to have covered all the truly pressing issues."

They finished their meal quietly, with a few shared smiles and laughter passed between them as they ate. As they were cleaning up afterward Martin paused, one hand still on the tap from rinsing his plate.

"Okay, apparently this question is _not_ going to leave me alone until I ask, but you _don't_ have to answer if you don't want to," he said, sounding embarrassed. "What sort of erotica do you like?"

Jon laughed, reaching around him to place his own plate in the sink. "Will you think less of me if I say I tend to gravitate towards fanfiction?"

 _"No,"_ Martin said, spinning around to face him in shock. "Fanfiction? _You?”_

"Yes, yes," Jon said, waving him off. "Contrary to popular belief it's often quite well-written, and the authors actually _care_ about the subjects of their stories instead of just writing caricatures of good-looking people sleeping with each other."

"No, no, I know that," Martin said, still sounding dumbfounded. "Jon, I- I used to _write_ fanfic. I know it can be good."

"Wait, really?" Jon raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I thought poetry was your thing."

"I can have more than one 'thing'." Martin shook his head, turning back to the sink and stacking the newly-rinsed plates in a neat pile. "Actually did quite a bit of erotica, back in the day. Why do you think I was curious?"

 _"No,"_ Jon said, pouring as much scandalized shock into his voice as he could. "Mr. Blackwood, I never would have guessed it of you."

"You don't know everything about me, Mr. Sims," Martin teased, reaching for the towel and drying his hands.

"Clearly not," Jon said, wonder in his voice. Martin snorted.

"So. Recommendations? From one connoisseur of the genre to another?"

"Hmm..." Jon tapped one finger against his chin, leaning back against the counter as he thought. Martin mimicked him, leaning opposite so that they were face-to-face. "Well, I tend to just read whatever's been posted most recently, from pretty much any fandom. Sticking to one author or set of characters for too long... it tends to get boring, just like with published books. One advantage to internet reading, there's infinite variety."

Martin nodded in agreement. "Yeah, there's definitely something for everyone out there."

"Quite." Jon tapped his chin again. "Actually, there was this one author - I don't even know if they're active anymore, I haven't checked in ages... but literally _everything_ they wrote was good. I read pretty much everything they posted, never lost interest in their style."

"Really?" Martin said, sounding delighted. "So they come with the Jonathan Sims seal of approval? That's high praise."

Jon laughed. "Yes, I suppose it is. _God,_ what was the name..." He cast his eyes to the ceiling, trying to remember. "It had a bunch of numbers after it, it was... oh!" He snapped his fingers and rattled it off: "That-I-May-Cease-To-Be-2321821. Pretentious, but they were a good author."

Jon was rather pleased with himself for remembering their username; it took him a moment to realize Martin was staring at him blankly.

"Martin?"

"Jon," he said, completely expressionless. "That was _my_ pen name."

Jon froze.

"You mean to tell me," he said, slowly.

"Yes," Martin said, eyes wide.

"I've been getting off to _your_ writing..."

"Apparently."

_"Since before we met?”_

Martin choked on air. _"What?"_

"Martin," Jon said, the realization leaving him breathless. "I've been reading your stuff since- god, since I was in _uni._ Since before my- my first _kiss,_ since- christ, it might have been before I started dating, at _all,_ it was- _years,_ Martin, _years."_

Martin fumbled his way back into his chair, sitting down shakily. Jon followed suit, sitting across from him and grabbing his hand.

"Tell me you didn't comment," Martin said, face pale.

Jon nodded slowly. "I got an account the first year the website went live. TheGamesAfoot?"

Martin exhaled slowly. "I _remember_ you," he said. "Commented on everything I posted, I was so flattered every time I saw your username crop up. Started looking out for you whenever I put up something new."

"I'd always read it as soon as possible, when you posted," Jon said, staring off into space as he remembered. "I'd get so excited when I got the notification email."

"You subscribed?" Martin asked, sounding a bit fragile.

"Of course I did," Jon scoffed, turning back to face him. "I wasn't kidding when I said you're a talented writer, I genuinely enjoy the stories you wrote. Not just the explicit ones either, I mean _all_ of them."

Martin smiled shyly. "Even the experimental stream-of-consciousness freeform poetry?"

Jon hesitated. "I must admit I only read that one once."

Martin laughed.

"But the _rest_ of them were very good," Jon hastened to emphasize, "and I'm sure that one was as well, for... free-form poetry enthusiasts."

"Oh, no, it was absolute shit," Martin snorted. "Complete and utter garbage. But fun to write.”

"Well, that's the important thing." Jon smiled. Martin matched it, flushing slightly and glancing down at the table. "It doesn't bother you, does it?" Jon asked, suddenly unsure. "Or- or make you uncomfortable, or anything? That I've, uh... _interacted_ with your writing?"

Martin blinked, looking up with a surprised expression. "Jon," he said slowly, "I know you don't... _get_ the whole sexual attraction thing, but... the idea of you, uh, _getting off_ to something I created? That's hot." He raised his eyebrows significantly. "That's like- god, I don't even know. But it's hot."

"Oh," Jon said, giving him a surprised look of his own. "Well that's... alright, then."

"Sorry, does that bother _you?"_ Martin asked. "That I find it hot, I mean."

"No, not really," Jon said. "Just... odd, I suppose. I could see it being flattering, but not _hot."_

"You're just going to have to trust me, then," Martin said, and smiled.

"I think I can do that." Jon smiled back.

After a few moments Martin's eyes widened. "I've just remembered," he said, sounding a bit strangled. "I still have all my old backup files on my laptop. If you, uh, if you... want them? Since we don't have internet up here, I mean."

Jon felt himself flush. "Um. I, uh, I may take you up on that. Sometime."

"Sure." Martin's voice cracked on the word, and he winced and cleared his throat. "I mean, sure, that's fine. Totally not something that'll be fueling my fantasies for the rest of my life."

Jon laughed. "In that case, I will _definitely_ take you up on that," he said, just to make Martin start spluttering again.

Eventually, they would recover from the mutual embarrassment, and leave the table to take advantage of the fine weather by exploring the local scenery. Eventually, Martin would hand his laptop to Jon with a bright red face, and Jon would accept it, equally flushed. Eventually, they would come up with a code of euphemisms and carefully closed doors that allowed them to navigate intimate moments with enough privacy for both of them to be comfortable.

For now, though, Jon squeezed Martin's hand, and leaned across the table to steal the flustered words right out of his mouth with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Explanation for Martin’s username: "When I have Fears That I May Cease to Be" is a poem by John Keats, and Keats died 23 February, 1821 (23/2/1821 by the British date system).


End file.
